


what we remember

by chii



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 07:51:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chii/pseuds/chii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connecticut's betrayal means something different to all of them. After Epsilon, it means nothing but a word to Wash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what we remember

**Author's Note:**

> this is probably the worst thing ever, of all time. it was written over the span of like a week, and it's disjointed and awful and i'm just generally hgkjhskf over it, but i wanted it done and out so it wasn't sitting on my computer 8(
> 
> it's basically just meant to bridge the gap and plotholes here, since it makes no sense for wash to be all 'oh, she's dead? whatevs" after finding connie like that, after how he's acted before this.
> 
> SO YEAH.

Wash hangs back with the rest when they wrap it up, leaning against the wall while Carolina radios in the location for the landing zone that 479 is picking them up from. 

One, two, three, four—

He counts them silently, one after the other, and knows, _knows_ something's gone wrong if they're one short. They were supposed to get her, supposed to bring her back, but if she got away the Director isn't going to be pleased about that in the slightest. 

“So she got away?”

Wash tips his head to the side, glancing at York as he comes closer to the two girls, giving Texas a wide berth that he's sure all of them notice, just like he's sure they notice the way he presses one hand to Carolina's arm, getting a flinch for his trouble. York's always understood Carolina the best out of any of them, always been able to get close when she's all quiet fury and terrifying looks of disappointment when they don't perform as well as they can, as well as they should. 

“Easy,” York murmurs, just barely audible enough for any of them to catch- those that do, look away, boarding the ship when it hovers with a hiss of air and lets them land. Only Texas lingers, staring at them, and then swings herself up onto the ship as well, leaving Wash to be the last one up, offering a hand own to the two of them, both of them hoisting her up together. 

“You mind telling us what went down in there?” North asks quietly from the back, already breaking down his sniper rifle, voicing the question that's lingering on Wash's tongue. He's endlessly glad he's not the one to ask it again, just for the way Carolina turns, tense and angry. 

“She's a traitor. Does it matter?” 

Even Carolina bristles at that, though Wash lurches to his feet just as 479 takes off, saved only by York grabbing his arm and steadying him, while the whole ship rumbles under their boots and pushes off, with a disconcerting creak of metal that Wash never ceases to find unsettling. “Of course it matters,” York answers smoothly, quickly, before anyone else can, and Carolina sits like she's about to sit on a bed of nails, ginger and not anywhere near graceful. “She's still a--” 

“Still a _what_?” Texas demands, standing and stalking over to where the rest of them are, looking for all the world like she's walking on solid ground, not wavering in the slightest even when the rest of them are either braced or sitting. “She walked out of there with a full suit of armor and who knows what else. _She's a traitor_.” 

Wash barely keeps his mouth shut, barely keeps his thoughts to himself because he knows they won't help right now- all the others agree, he can see it in the way Carolina holds herself stiff and tight, can see it in the way York looks away and grips him all the tighter, in the way all the others sit there stiffly. No, arguing won't do any good; all he can do is pull her aside later, and try to figure out what happened. 

 

 

 

He ought to know better, really, really he should, but that doesn't stop him from bringing it up in the morning training, over the mats where York's sitting close enough to Carolina for everyone to do a double-take, but no one to comment.

“She wouldn't do that, not without a good reason,” Wash says finally, and doesn't miss the way that York looks at him, sad and resigned, and _old_ , which Wash thinks is the most unsettling part. York's always smiling, always in a good mood, teasing and jabbing at the others playfully. He's always finding the brighter side to things, and either this unsettles him so badly that he can't do that anymore, or he knows something that the rest of them don't. Wash isn't sure if he wants to know which it one that is. 

“Carolina--” York says, just before anyone else can say anything. Down the gym, South's already silent, leaning forward, clearly listening in while Wyoming raises an eyebrow and does too. “Wash, just-- come on, man, just drop it right now, okay?” 

It's not something that's is 'just dropped,' though, not when it's one of their own, not when the rumors are twice as bad as the truth, no doubt. _She has a good reason for it- it's probably part of the plan, something for her to infiltrate, the Director wouldn't-- Connie wouldn't do that, she knows--_

Wash expects Carolina to maybe tell him to shut up about it, maybe to explain it, maybe to do a lot of things; what he doesn't expect is her to whirl around and shove him up against the wall, voice low and soft and dangerous, while South whistles in the background and York stands in a rush. 

“This isn't part of a plan, Wash. This isn't intentional, this wasn't a mission objective we never told you about, this wasn't something we _thought up_ ,” Carolina practically snarls, and shakes off York's gentle hand, shoving at Wash's chest to get him to keep his focus on her. “Someday, Washington, someone is gonna take advantage of the fact that you believe anything you're told, and I hope to _god_ I'm not there when it happens--” 

“ _That's enough, Carolina_ ,” York says sharply, and jerks her back, gripping both of her arms, and tugging her against his chest, just holding her there. She doesn't fight, doesn't do anything more than just look at him, circles under her eyes, angry and tired and defeated, leaving Wash taking a step back, because none of this is right. They're a team, they're the good guys, they're there to make a difference and fix things that aren't right, and that's what they _do._ Connie wouldn't just-- 

York ushers Carolina out, just as unsettled at seeing her this tense and on edge after everything, and doesn't come back, leaving the rest of them just as awkward, just as uneasy. Training stops early at that point, Wash following last, running until he's out of breath and unable to think any more, coming in on York and North talking in the lockers in low tones. 

“You heard the rumors, man,” North murmurs, slinging his towel into the hamper with a sigh, leaning against the lockers. 

“Rumors.” York reiterates it with slam of his locker, exhaling harshly. “Everyone's on edge after what happened, but Carolina took it the hardest. Connie betraying us-- you know how Carolina is with her team. Took it personal even if it wasn't.” 

“Rumors got some truth to them sometimes,” North offers, and sits on the bench with a creak of wood and a wry tone. “And rumor has it that Texas is the one who did it. You know how Carolina would react to that. We're fighting a war but it isn't supposed to be against each other.” 

Their voices fade out as the two of them leave, the conversation doing nothing to make him feel any better in the end. 

 

 

 _Military secrets, and personal information_. 

Washington rolls all of it over in his head, not missing the angry way that South stalks down the halls after the meeting, not missing how York and Delta are talking in low tones. She'd been selling military and personal secrets to Insurrectionists with the intent to blackmail them, to set them up and it-- none of it seems right, not with how she had behaved, how convinced she had been that this was wrong. 

They do one-on-one meetings with everyone, after it's done, and when the Counselor sits him down, he passes over a sheet of papers in a manila envelope. Silent, he reads it, and swallows the knowledge down, tasting bile as he realizes. It's a list of data, of attempts to get into the network, all of them with Connie's ID, along with all the information she'd forwarded on along the way. Names, dates of birth, next family members-- everything ( _as the Director had said_ ) to get a hold over all of them at any point in time. 

“How does this make you feel, Agent Washington?” the Counselor asks easily, and takes the papers back, folding them away with his tablet and pen between his fingers. “You have a younger brother back home, do you not? Rest assured that the Director has made contact with all immediate members who might have been in...danger, and all necessary precautions are being put into place. Many of the others had expressed a...need for revenge.” 

He's not sure how it makes him feel, all he knows is that he doesn't want to look at that piece of paper any more, and that he knows what he saw, knows he saw her at the terminal ( _just like the Director had said_ ) sneaking around, knows that everything the Director pointed out seemed true. 

They end the session with an invitation; it's his turn to get his partner, and Wash doesn't think twice before he accepts. There's a little voice in the back of his mind saying they're buying him, they're placating him, they're using his desire to do better to use him, and he shuts it down, pretends it doesn't sound exactly like her. The Director wouldn't do anything to hurt the program; he's here to make a difference, just like all of them are. He said so himself. 

In the end, it doesn't matter what he remembers, what they tell him. Epsilon is in his head and digging his fingers through his memories, ripping and tearing and shredding, and then apologetically putting them back together, haphazardly slamming odds and ends together to try and stop both of them from coming apart.

By the time Epsilon's done and years later he's staring down at her helmet in the sand, listening to Carolina explain what happened, all he can manage is a faint feeling of _wrong_ , like he should care more about this but doesn't know why. 

“Are you gonna be okay?” Carolina asks finally, in a rare moment of sensitivity, and Wash tilts his head, raising his eyebrows under his helmet. When he doesn't elaborate, she continues, frowning. “You two were always-- close.” 

“We were?” Wash glances at the helmet, and then at the sand, shaking his head. “I don't remember.”


End file.
